


Your Pain is a Tribute

by Dawnthecat



Category: South Park
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:48:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13456632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnthecat/pseuds/Dawnthecat
Summary: Two things in life keep Kenny sane: taking care of his little sister and his super hero alter ego. Not like those would ever conflict, right?





	1. Chapter 1

I died again today. Fucking brutal timing, but hey ‘life eez a beetch’. Not in this case, duh, but generally speaking. It was more 'death is a goddamned sadist' situation right now. Here I was enjoying the winter wonderland esque backwoods of rural Colorado and now here I am desperately trying to inhale snow through a torn trachea under 200 pounds of wet fur.   
Didn't see the cougar. I guess that's when you have a problem- fuck those idiots that freak when they see a big cat, it's when you don't see the big cat, when you’re just walking home the long way after taking shit all day at work so you have a moment of respite before you have to go and take shit at home and all of a sudden a goddamned cougar is on you and tearing out your throat now that's when you freak!  
I had been eaten alive before. The white hot lines of fire being carved into my body as pieces of it were gouged out and devoured were as familiar as the bitter resignation I felt as the world around me started to bleed together and fade out. It wasn't the worst way to go. That right there is an informed opinion, but even that last ditch rush of endorphins that proves God isn’t a complete asshole could fully erase the sensation of a creature chomping off bits of you….and the noises that go with it.   
The crunch of bone and sinew.   
The wet tearing of flesh and fat.  
The slippery sound of you sliding down something's throat.  
There was no high that could keep those sounds and what they signified from burning in the back of my mind, a white hot star of gibbering panic that never went fully quiet. Even as the darkness took me, as those sounds, that wet gulping chomp, faded out altogether I knew. I’d be willing to bet those sounds would be featured in my nightmares for the next few weeks, but depending on the return trip they could be bumped from the program for one of the A listers.  
Even with all of the practice I had at making peace with fate’s cruel sense of humor, it still fucking hurt. It always hurts, every damn time. How many times now? How many times still? I had seen, through the tears, pain, and panic, the deep burnt red tide spreading out onto the snow spilled out from my veins onto the pure sparkling white. Some faraway part of me thought that it was typical for me, turning a beautiful piece of the wilderness into a scene from a horror movie. Everything had condensed; there was no past, no present; just those sounds- I'd do anything to not hear those sounds.  
Focusing on the fact that I'd promised to help Karen practice her role for the middle school’s upcoming production of Othello helped. I mean, it made me feel like a huge fucking tool, but that was better than feeling anything that might be en route to the cougar's stomach. Hopefully I'd be back in the morning, but it could be weeks; I never knew for sure. Hell this time I might actually stay dead. I mean a guy can dream right?  
So as the world around me got farther and farther away, my perceptions fading out into  
blessed, painless, numbness I braced myself for the end. This end, at least. As much as I hoped otherwise I knew there would be another. And another.

I was prepared for a lot of things, but not the eyes of amber flame that were suddenly fixed upon my own. Hadn't expected to see the damned cat again. It hissed at me, posturing aggressively over...me. Or what had been me up until a few minutes ago. It took me a moment to look past all the blood and viscera, but yep, that was me- white skin, shaggy blond hair, dark dark blue eyes and my favorite fluorescent orange parka. Also currently being eaten by a mountain lion. Dead-haha- giveaway right there. You'd think that thing would've had the sense to go for something that wasn't 5’8 and weighed as much as a bag of bones, but hey maybe it thought I'd be easy pickings. It certainly hadn't had much difficulty taking me down, which was pretty embarrassing all things considered.  
This scenario hadn't even occurred to me, so there was really only one thing to say: “Hell fucking yes!” I did a little dance right then and there, chanting “Whoo hoo! Whoo hoo!” all the while. Embarrassing, but not like anyone could see me anyway-other than the cougar who definitely deserved it.  
“Aww, here Kitty kitty.” I sang out, advancing on the increasingly agitated feline. I stopped maybe three feet in front of the cougar, positively delighted to see its reaction. The beast had stopped posturing and was now pressing itself as close to the ground as it could manage with it's ears flat back against it's head and all of it's hair on end. It was very disturbed to see,or fuck if I know-sense?-, it's meal back to haunt it.   
“ Tough luck pussycat,” I crooned, sure that I looked positively manic. “Payback’s a bitch!” I shouted as I jumped straight at the big cat, spooking the creature and sending it loping off into the woods. Grinning ear to ear, and still not quite believing my luck, I set off at a run of my own.  
I was able to make it to the graveyard within ten minutes. Being a ghost had its perks, and intangibility was one of them. Going through was always faster than going around, so the deep snow on the forest path was literally no obstacle. Graves could be tricky though, so I stuck to the old fashioned paths as I entered our town’s respectably well kept cemetery. At least most of it was well kept; there was a caretaker that came by twice a week and I tried to clean up whenever I came by, which was way too often, but I could never really eradicate the odd air of decay in my destination: the northeast corner. The plots there were reserved for children under the age of ten. No one knows why.  
Most historians speculate that the custom was established after a particularly nasty strain of pneumonia killed off half a generation in the late 18th century. They believe that the town wanted to keep the kids together so they wouldn't be lonely in heaven or some sentimental shit like that, but the truth is way weirder. At least the bits and pieces I've gotten from the local ghosts anyway. They don't like talking about it.  
I waved to a few of them as I made my way towards my grave. It was a simple headstone with only my name and a Bible verse engraved into the rock. I think that was all that was on there because that was all that my mother insisted on; engravers charge by the letter and the dates of my birth and death would have cost a pretty penny. Either way I was grateful to my ma. The grave would have been a huge setback, especially after all the hospital fees, but she made it work somehow. I debated dropping by to pay my respects, but I was kind of in a time crunch, so it would have to wait. Not like I didn't wind up here regularly.  
The veil of cold energy hanging over my headstone was practically palpable. To be honest I wish it scared me. It should, I've seen enough supernatural shenanigans to recognise bad mojo when I see it, but at this point I don't have enough energy to spend angsting over another mystery. My grave just feels like my old coat: insulating, familiar, and safe. There was always some subtle pull I'd sense standing over my burial plot, some kind of gravity that drew me in. I leaned into it now closing my eyes as I let it lead me forward...and fell flat on my face.  
I pulled myself up in the physical plane. My clothes were torn, but only where the killing stroke had landed. It would be easy enough to fix, thank God. We were almost out of cash this month, even with me skipping half the week to work shifts under the table at City Wok. Winters in Colorado were no joke, and while I might not mind freezing to death to save some cash I'd never risk Karen. I winced at the thought of my little sister, and hauled ass outta the graveyard. Judging by the light, or what was left of it, I was already late. I needed to get home to read lines for my sister's crappy bit part in her crappy school’s crappy play. It was important to Karen so my opinion on the theatrical potential of our public school system was moot.  
I grinned as I thought of how impressed Kyle would be with my vocab progress. I amended that thought as I jumped over the low wall surrounding the cemetery, and took off on the plowed and salted road heading back to town. He probably wouldn’t be impressed; Kyle was the smartest person I knew and it would take a bonafide genius to get him to raise an eyebrow, but I knew he'd be happy with my progress. I know I was, especially since his help with my… night life depended on raising my GPA. He was also pushing me to rejoin track or some other extra curricular that might land me a scholarship, but I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'd be working full time as soon as I could.   
Our house was a depressing reminder of why. I skidded to a halt about half a block from my legal address and just took it in for a moment. The paint had been cracked and peeling for as long as I could remember, ditto for the rusted out car on our sad excuse for a lawn, but it was only after we lost Ma that our home stopped looking poor and started looking condemned. The windows were boarded up and the roof had partially collapsed, so it looked abandoned despite being the only inhabited structure left in the SODOSOPA development. Well, legally inhabited. I'd run off the most recent batch of crackheads, not that they wouldn't be back soon enough, but I let the decent bums squat wherever they could escape the harsh mid December weather.   
There were very few perks attached to my home address, but it's proximity to the graveyard was one of them. I had been able to make it there within fifteen minutes, running like a cowboy into the setting sun. Which was really hard on the eyes, but still gotta appreciate the dramatic effect. I chose to think of that instead of the way the shadows reached out towards me, inky tentacles of darkness pulling me towards the house that stopped being home a long time ago.


	2. Home, sweet home

“Goddamnit Stuart,” I muttered as I walked into the dilapidated demesne. There was another skank passed out on the couch. Stick thin, needle marks down both arms, and dressed more appropriately for the beach than the frigid Rocky mountains, she was Stuart's type alright. I hoped this one was single. The last time Stuart brought one of his 'dates' back to the house her boyfriend had shown up waving a .44 around. It went off and managed to ricochet a bullet off the aluminum siding and into my brain.  
“Karebear!” I called out loudly enough for anyone who had bothered to break into our shithole to hear, and hopefully clear out. I learned not to keep any valuables here a long time ago, but that didn't stop people from coming in and clearing out our fridge.   
It was one of those things that should have surprised me but didn’t; I mean an addict wasn't going to report a theft or even notice it half the time. Who cared about the two kids that lived here too? You'd think they'd walk in, see the carpet worn down to the concrete, the collapsed couch, the fucking ceiling caving in and realize that the people here had so little to lose that taking some of it could literally kill them. Instead I’d come home once to a tweaker breaking down part of our wall to get at the copper wiring.  
“ You're late! Get your ass in here, bum!” I grinned at that; Karen wouldn't be so feisty if anything had happened when I was out. I was relieved instead of insulted as I made my way down the hall towards my little sisters room, her scolding a pleasant litany. “Gee, who wanted me to try out for drama club to begin with, huh? You. Who went and said ‘Karen you need to boost up your extracurriculars’-you again. And this all coming from my delinquent older brother.”  
Damn. I guess Kyle was rubbing off on me; I knew there was no way I could get into college, but Karen had a chance and I wanted her to succeed. Really, really badly. She deserved more than this. I reached her room, knocked four times, said “ City service.” and waited for my little sister to get through the five locks I had installed on her reinforced door.   
“ Of course I said well okay Kenny, if you really think it'll help me with college applications in you know FIVE years, it's worth a shot I'll check it out. And when I got cast and said you know I might not be comfortable getting up on stage in front of everybody, who said I'd be denying our little slice of hillbilly hell the privilege of seeing me perform?” The door swung inward and I was greeted with the vision of my indignant little sister; her mousy brown hair in a messy bun, five feet and four inches of faux outrage that didn't reach her warm brown eyes.   
“ I can't believe you're late.” The accusation in her tone was colored with amusement, so I wasn't too contrite as I countered “ Really sorry Karebear, I saw a mountain lion on the way home and froze up.” I didn't bat an eyelash at lying to my sister. I had been lying to everyone for as long as I could remember, at this point talking about what actually happened would be more disturbing.  
I probably should have thought of something farther from the truth though, since that made her freeze mid rant. “ Get in” she demanded, ushering me through the door and onto a beanbag chair I had rescued from a curb two years ago. “ Do we need to, like, report it?” Karen asked, as she pulled at the bottom of her t-shirt. Fuck. I really should have said something else. All of the humor and levity had left Karen’s face. Mccormicks and authority did not get along, especially authority that might carry a badge. “ No Karebear, I took the long way home.” She had no idea how long. “ I saw it head back into the mountains.”   
“Oh, good.” She said obviously relieved. “Why’d you take the backwoods route? You're supposed to be helping me rehearse.” Well, crud. All of the friendly teasing was gone and Karen looked genuinely upset now. I couldn't blame her. Sometimes it took me much longer to get back to the physical plane, so I had a history of disappearing. Most of the time I let people think I'd gone on some sort of bender. I stopped using after Ma died, but no one forgets anything in a small town. My last name didn't help dispel any of the more sordid rumors either; it was easier to go with the flow and accept a perfectly reasonable cover than it would be to prove my innocence. Even to my sister.  
I hated seeing Karen upset. I detested seeing Karen upset in her room. I'd done what I could to lighten the place up, stapling white and blue Christmas lights to the ceiling so the soft light wouldn't reveal the stains and splotches all over the walls and ceiling; even going so far as reupholstering every second hand piece of furniture in her favorite shade of purple so everything matched. I had thrifted, scavenged, and on one occasion outright stolen every piece of furniture in the room. The antique bedframe in the corner, as well as the medium sized armoire next to it had been purchased from a thrift shop at severely reduced prices before being repaired by yours truly while the student desk and chair against the opposite wall had been donated to the cause by a friend. The two beanbag chairs we currently occupied had been liberated from a curb suspiciously adjacent to a moving truck, but no one could prove anything. All in all Karen had a great room, the nicest one in our neighbourhood for sure.   
It still didn't make up for the bricked over window.  
Three years ago two junkies broke into the house via Karen's window. I made them pay for it. Dearly. We never found out why. The motivation could have ranged from drugs to revenge to something way way worse, but it didn't matter. Especially not to Karen's guardian angel. She'd only been ten at the time so the incident had shaken her pretty badly. The incident had shaken me pretty badly too, so the window had been secured within a week. Now all trace of the violation were hidden behind tidy violet curtains.  
“Locks, Kare.” I reminded her with a gentle smile. “ I wanted to get aired out. It would be tragic to have your big debut ruined by City fragrance.” I watched my sister lock three out of the five locks before turning back to face me. It was a security protocol- if someone tried to pick all five locks they'd be unintentionally locking two of them.  
“ Well it worked. You don't smell any worse than usual.” She threw that one at me through a fit of giggles. I shifted my smile from gentle to cocky and teased her back with “Ha-ha. You sure you're not doing standup?” In retrospect it was obvious why the cougar had attacked. I wish our City chicken was as popular with humans.   
“As a matter of fact I am,” she said as she handed me a small stack of papers. “ Now let's get to work. I want to make sure the first dress rehearsal is perfect.” I looked into my little sisters sparkling eyes and repressed a sigh. Despite her initial reluctance Karen was really invested in her part. It was going to be a long night.

Three hours later I bid my little sister goodnight, silently wishing Iago had just gone on an outright killing spree en route to my room. Stuart was either gone or passed out, so there was none of the usual unpleasantness to deal with. Gotta appreciate the little things in life, like not having to handle your abusive, drunken, ass of a dad and being able to find your keys in the midst of all the miscellaneous garbage hoarded in your pockets on the first try. My door was secured with a single lock that was mostly for show; I had nothing of value here and it made my room a more attractive prospect to any would be thieves. Plus if anyone broke in while I was here… They'd get much more than they bargained for.   
Normally I'd collapse into bed at this point- after working a twelve hour shift and dealing with any of Stuart’s bullshit or addressing any of Karen’s needs I’d be running on empty. Which worked for the most part. It kept me too tired to dream anyway. Not today, though. Every time I incarnate I come back good as new. No fatigue or injuries- hell no cavities or scars- just me back at 100%, as if I'd just woken from a deeply refreshing slumber.   
I tried not to think too hard about what that might mean as I surveyed my room. Sparsely furnished, with only a dresser and an old chest, most of the decor was up on the walls. 'Decor’ of the redneck variety- posters, lots and lots of posters featuring cars and beautiful women. One or four featuring beautiful men. I have a fine appreciation for the human form, as evidenced by the numerous drawings scrawled over any available wall space. They were the one thing that would set my room apart from any other white trash abode.  
Most of them were replicas of other pinups, a couple were even indistinguishable from the other posters unless you looked closely, but here and there you would see something that didn't quite fit- beautiful androgynous figures with more or less limbs than perspective would have you expect, small creatures that were immediately categorized as familiar and harmless until the details- the scales, and the eyes, and the teeth- came together and they were suddenly not. There was a sketch of an Angel behind the door, a three faced entity with a tail that was also a comet. Most people couldn't look at it for long before they started crying without knowing why. I spent weeks recreating a scene I’d seen in one of the netherworlds on the far wall, painstakingly mapping out every detail just right. I whitewashed the damned thing within an hour of finishing it, but sometimes I still feel it watching me from behind the images of lovely ladies and fast cars. Art is much cheaper than a therapist, and can't lock me in a psyche ward, so most mediums had become a beloved refuge from the fucked up chaos of my life and deaths and resurrections.  
I had built a better one for myself though. The thought made me smile-a real smile, the rare kind that always surprised people who thought they knew me-as I walked over to the chest. I opened it and carefully removed the false bottom to reveal a dark grey jumpsuit neatly folded on top of a black cloak. I took those out with all the reverence of priest handling communion and started my small ritual; the jumpsuit went on first, followed by a pair of black combat boots and matching gloves. Then came the domino mask and baclava, to completely obscure my face and features. The last piece was the hooded cloak; after putting it on I was transformed.  
I was Mysterion.


	3. Jinxed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tried using a different style/tone to reflect that Kenny relates to the world differently as Mysterion.

Mysterion moves gracefully, a walking study in the economy of motion. Ever efficient, he makes no unnecessary movements as he ghosts through the ruins of SODOSOPA, either entirely still or running low to the ground, pace consistent. He is invisible, a flickering shadow one moment and a concrete outcropping the next. They won't see him coming. They never see him coming.  
The first batch of crackheads certainly don't. Mysterion spots them lighting up in one of the back alleys, diverts course, and uses his momentum to take down the largest of the three figures he had spotted. From there it's a simple dance; cover, punch, kick, repeat. They're on the ground before fully registering his arrival.  
“Stay down.” Mysterion growls the command as he crushes the pipe under his boot. He doesn't repeat it when one of the men surges upward screaming profanities, he simply kicks him in the ribs, hard, then stomps on the scumbag’s head. Stunned, the man does not or cannot move again. The action is enough to keep the others subdued and compliant as Mysterion zipties their hands and feet together. He sets off once more, melting into the shadows to continue his patrol. The police will receive an anonymous text before daybreak, and the men will be in jail by this time tomorrow.   
Mysterion encounters two more groups of a similar nature within the hour; sad, lost souls huddling around the light of a pipe on a dark winter night. He buries any sympathy he might feel with the knowledge that these people are better off in the county jail- better to be taken in alive than found frozen to death on a frosty morning- and treats them much the same. It's a familiar ritual; the takedown, the ties, and the location notes he makes each time. There's comfort in that, in being back out on his beat. Nonetheless, the trend is disturbing; there should not be so many addicts roaming about. He has not been absent, preoccupied with his other responsibilities, long enough for production to get off the ground again. Not in SODOSOPA, anyway. Not unless another supplier moved in.  
It’s not a particularly perplexing thought, so Mysterion continues his patrol. He will know by the end of the night. Where there are drugs there is money, where there is money there are guns, and where there are guns there is danger. Mysterion has no need to seek out danger. Danger actively seeks out Mysterion. Part of his curse, he suspects. So when he falls through a rotting section of roofing over the former Lofts at SODOSOPA he knows what to expect.   
He sticks the landing, pulling himself up and flaring out his cloak in the process; quite an intimidating sight for the rough looking crowd filling the room to behold. Most of them rabbit- customers thankfully, not all hired muscle- but at least four men move for weapons. Mysterion does not wait to find out what they're carrying. He rushes the nearest tough, chops him in the neck, and throws him into the thug behind him. While those two struggle to untangle themselves he sidesteps a bat wielded by an enraged underfed man bedecked in golden chains and makes his way towards the other two men he saw reach. Mysterion knows how to handle knives, but there's not much he can do against guns at close range.   
“ The fuck are you!?!” the bat wielding addict screams, moving to pursue. “I fucking told Jerry, man, I told him, I fucking told him!” Mysterion sidesteps again and the bat crashes into the second tough’s head with a sickening crunch. Tough mark two hadn't been able to get his gun out, but the second thug had and Mysterion is suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun; so he drops to his knees before the jackass pulls the trigger and is rewarded with an agonized scream from the lunatic with the bat. Mysterion slams his fist into thug#2’s crotch before he can set up a second shot and takes the opportunity to ziptie the second thug’s arm to his leg as the man doubles over. He rises, shoving his would be executioner to the ground and pocketing the pistol in the process.  
“You fucking shot me-goddamit Dave, you goddamned son of a whore, the hell do I even pay you for!” the lunatic is still loud; screaming abuse and profanities at his underlings from the floor he had sunk to. So bat-man is the supplier. Lovely. The dealer had been hit in the shoulder and was frantically trying to stem the bleeding; Mysterion wasn't particularly concerned as he had been shot frequently enough to know the man was in no immediate danger.   
Unlike himself. Mysterion ripped the bat out of the sobbing wreck's hands and went for the original duo. Thug had his gun out, but was still on the ground. Tough was up but fumbling for his gun. Mysterion brought the bat up into tough’s knee, bringing him back down to the ground in a whimpering mess. Thug raised his gun at Mysterion only to find the vigilante pointing his co-workers pistol at his head. 

“Drop it.” Mysterion hisses in a hoarse whisper. Wide-eyed and white-faced the thug complies. He is rewarded with a fist to the temple and goes out like a light. Mysterion moves back towards the center of the room, noting the details he had not absorbed in his abrupt entrance: slapdash repairs to the windows and floor, as well as a reinforced door hanging slightly ajar from the sudden exodus his arrival had caused. He crosses the room to shut and lock it before turning back to the men on the floor.  
Mysterion demands no answers, not yet, and gazes upon the damage he has dealt. Of his five attackers, only three are conscious. All of them are on the ground. He can hear a commotion coming from the lower levels; whatever outfit had moved in must have fortified the Loft’s and placed most of their security on the ground floor. He can already hear faint shouting, he doesn't have much time.  
Bat-man is quiet now, meek in his terror. Mysterion catches his gaze and is not surprised when the other fails to maintain eye contact.  
“Who?” Finally, after what must have seemed like an eternity to the frightened dealer, Mysterion asks.  
“Nobody, ain't nobody.” He stutters desperately. Mysterion views the dealer’s distress in a new light; it’s not the vigilante he’s afraid of.   
“Nobody has a lot to answer for,” Mysterion says as he crosses the room, all malice and menace. “ As do you.” With that line Mysterion kicks the man's damaged shoulder, following up with a harsh kick in the stomach. No time for subtlety now, he needs answers and he needs them fast.  
“Talk,” Mysterion spits the word out with as much venom as he can muster, ignoring bat-man’s frantic sobbing, “while you still can.”   
“It’s not, it’s not th-that simple;” he chokes through his hysterics “ there ain’t, there ain’t much to tell. We, me and Jerry, we got investors, man. Th-they say, there’s a ring been shutdown up here, lots of demand but no supply-a se-seller’ market, y’know. So we take out a loan at a reasonable rate and set up shop.” Bat-man was no longer sobbing, spilling his guts in a rushed gibbering panic instead. Perfect all he needed now was-  
The original tough pulled up his gun and opened fire. Mysterion rushed forward, desperate to close the distance, only to cartwheel to the side as the building shook and half the far wall exploded. Shit; the rest of whatever security force they had must have decided to go through the wall instead of bothering with the door.  
Luckily, they had also taken out one of the   
reinforced windows. Mysterion wastes no time and rushes through it before the wreckage fully clears; landing in an awkward but serviceable roll on the rooftop of another ruin and running off into the night. He didn't get all of the information out of bat-man, but he knows this MO. All he needs to do is get the rest of the details from this Jerry.  
Mysterion moves gracefully, silently, and unseen through the night. No one would ever guess at the fierce grin beneath his mask or the hum of exhilaration in his veins as he seeks out his latest quarry.


	4. Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days you spend hours rewriting the same 200 words over and over again. Other days, you belt out 1000 and wonder if you can bottle inspiration. Still trying to find the voice that works; any feedback is appreciated.

Some sins are graver than others.   
That is not up for debate.  
You never mean to do harm, people rarely do-and in that rare occurrence they always justify their actions. Very few people have fits of uncontrollable rage, though it's the most common excuse. He’s heard enough to know.  
Impulse is another matter.  
It's too much pressure, or you didn't realize the full repercussions, or you jumped to the wrong conclusions and acted on incomplete information; there are infinite variations of this theme, thousands of roads to the same destination. Impulse doesn't matter, though not really. There might be a thousand reasons why you took action, but they are not weighed on the same scale as the action taken.  
Impact always weighs more than intent.   
Particularly on the soul.  
Mysterion remembers this. Always, always, always. He should be better now. He needs to be better; it's why he exists: give all this pain a meaning. It should be him.   
Always, always, always.  
He tries not to kill people. (Impact always, always, always weighs more than intent)   
He’s not arrogant enough to believe he can always save the day; he’s no Mint Berry Crunch, he's never pretended to be.   
Still. Still, it should not have come to this.   
There was so much blood.  
It wasn't his for a change. That was why he'd gone away, a bit. Not completely gone, but far enough not to process the choking taste of copper in the air. Not good, not good at all.Mysterion was supposed to be better than this. Mysterion was better than this, he was already working back to the moment.  
Frigid December air rushing in from the broken windows; it made his mouth water and nose run beneath the balaclava.  
Recall: after shaking down some of the new game in town he'd gone after an influential member-Jerry Abendana.  
Itchy, itchy lining in his suit.  
Recall: plenty of leads- he and bat-man had been aggressively recruiting for a new distribution network- all of them pointing to the old Walmart outside of town.   
Creaking, groaning, moaning pipes, overhead and underfoot.  
Recall: he'd arrived at the abandoned superstore to find about twenty people unloading three trucks. He’d cornered one of them and...sequestered them far enough away to prevent attracting unwanted attention. The grunt gave up another address without much trouble and Yates had gotten an anonymous text with the locations and pictures of each truck and the activity surrounding them.  
Wind, crackling through the branches of an overgrown tree outside; they knocked against each other and the office window, creating a cacophony of wood and wind.  
Recall: He’d contacted his specialist with the address immediately. His specialist had responded immediately and bitched him out for good measure. “Do you know what time it is right now? Please tell me, I want to hear you say it.” Mysterion had groaned and complied with a hoarse “3:30 A.M.” He never broke character, not even for Kyle.”And it’s a matter of dire importance.” He’d thrown that in for the sheer drama of it; he felt like a kid playing superhero again whenever he had a straightforward bust. (Anything but.) “I don't care.” That was Kyle’s way of telling him to fuck off without actually being vulgar, and while Mysterion was held to a higher standard (He should be. He should always be.) than Kenny he couldn't resist throwing out a cuss: “ If that were true you wouldn't be bitching me out-” Proof he’d successfully broken Kyle's good upbringing came in the form of a prompt interruption:“And if you’d woken up my mother she’d be bitching us both out. Anyway I looked up that address and there’s got to be some mistake here. I know the guy, he’s in my synagogue.” While the connection was surprising, it was not overly strange (Yes, it was. That had been the first subtle sign.) everyone had different faces for their public and private lives; anyone could become a criminal under the right circumstances ( That was the kicker wasn't it.).   
“People can always surprise you.” Mysterion had issued this warning before; sometimes he worries that Kyle’s compassionate nature will get him killed.( It's not Kyle’s nature he needs to worry about in this context though. Impact.) “I get that anyone can have a double life, but this guy is fucking spineless. He's a marketing drone who corner’s literally anyone to brag about his crappy pitches and mediocre kids.” Kyle was adamant, and it was enough to make Mysterion pause and reevaluate. (Too little too late.) Kyle had good instincts, but this was outside his experience. Mysterion knew that people who hadn't witnessed the darker side of human nature first hand had trouble comprehending what horrors people were truly capable of (But Kyle had, hadn't he? That was the crux) so he simply teased “Kids, huh. You mean daughters, don't you. Oh, how weird for a nice single Jewish boy like you- valedictorian no less- to be pitched a couple of nice Jewish girls?” It always amazed him, the range he could coax out of his Mysterion persona; that had come across as gruffly affectionate, despite the low key. “What !? No, that has nothing to do with it. Guy is just really proud of his family- his wife passed like five years ago and he's never gotten over it so he’s just been focusing on the kids.” “You think bad guys don't have kids?” Reminding Kyle of the issues he's had with Stuart is low, but at nearly 4:00 A.M. he'd felt the dawn coming fast, and needed him on board- Kyle is great at decoding ledgers and Mysterion didn't think he could get at those investors without his help.(He finds them too soon) “Then take his record into account: no priors, not even a parking ticket in the last two years.” That had surprised him; from what he knew then Jerry and bat-man's operation had been rolling out with a degree of experience and lack of expertise that had priors written all over it. How had Jerry kept his nose clean? (The answer to that weighs on him now, and for however many lives he will live. A drop in the bucket at this point, really. He believes that. He has to believe that.)  
Brightly painted yellow walls, this is a marketing firm after all; lots of vibrant creative colors that do so little to hide the blood.  
Recall: “ The address is an office building; it's where Mr. Abendana’s marketing firm is based-suite 73.” Kyle had agreed to give his report, despite his qualms. “ The building went up in the late 2000’s and there’ve only been plumbing permits issued since, so if they even have a security system it'll be dated. You’re looking at an electric lock on each entryway, basic surveillance equipment, and maybe a night guard. As for the offices themselves, I doubt they have any security measures; these guys specialise in designing ads for freaking billboards.”   
“Truly a cutthroat industry. It's safe to assume the worst.” Mysterion had warned, overly solemn and fighting hard not to giggle.(It's not a fucking game. It had never been a fucking game. Why had he…) “Worst to expect is cameras in the office, plus those in the building. Either way, you could get into either by dressing up like a janitor again.” Kyle snarked back, reminding him of another use he'd found for one of his old uniforms- perk of working multiple jobs; multiple disguises and personas readily available. (The old uniform had his full name patched onto the right breast. His full fucking legal name.)   
“The night is mature. I will find an alternate entryway.” Mysterion stated, low tone full of grandeur and dignity.(Piss and vinegar.) “Well good luck. It's nice to know you're going up against a middle aged marketing agent tonight. I won't have to worry about you. Do me a favor and save all that 'pathos’ for someone who deserves it.” Kyle’s dismissal had taken the edge off a bit; he could play nonchalant but Mysterion knew he could be just as protective as his ridiculously formidable mother. He'd resolved to treat Jerry a little more gently, hell he could just be responsible for the books, even though bat-man had implied that he was the driving force behind their expansion into SODOSOPA…(Too little too late.) Mysterion had set off then; commandeering a busted up old Ford to the cause of justice. He was pulling the 'borrowed’ vehicle into the alley behind Main within fifteen minutes. After ensuring that the truck was out of the way enough to escape detailed inspection, but in the way enough for its rightful owner to reclaim he'd set about scaling the building next to his target: a Greek restaurant with ample balcony seating on the second floor. It was easy enough, and from there it was a simple thing to cut through one of the windows and infiltrate the main building. There were no security cameras, or even guards to slow his progress. (Stupid, stupid, stupid. That sign had been written in neon) Suite 73 was before his eyes before he knew it.  
Warm brown eyes, empty now. They reminded him too much of Karen in that moment so he looked at the gashes and rips, at the gouges and punctures instead; that was easier for him-only meat, no soul. The eyes had no soul either, but a recent absence can be just as bad as a presence. Jerry had been stocky. Not short, but not tall, he'd been as mediocre as Kyle had claimed. The pictures of his family were equally unremarkable. He could not bring himself to look at the children closely, though they would have been a better anchor. Or worse. They were orphans now.  
Recall: The door had been slightly ajar. (Ding, ding, ding) That was how he knew something was wrong.(Finally!) So he'd done the first intelligent thing he'd done all night. He'd moved back to suite 72, broke in without expending any real effort, cut out the window nearest to 73, then cut out a window in 73. Viola! Perfect stealth.(Too little too late) He'd started casing the offices then, deliberately ignoring the one office that was lit, the yellow bands of light escaping from the gap between the door and floor. After making a thorough sweep of the suite he'd approached the office- on high alert, expecting a trap of some kind. He hadn't expected to kick open the door to see a man who could only be Jerry tied to a chair, heavily injured. He had clearly been tortured.  
“Well, look what the Coon dragged in!” The words came out in a smug crow, originating from a hugely rotund man sitting on the desk in front of the corpse that had been Jerry.


End file.
